The starkest feeling I'll take away from my Sunday at University of Phoenix Stadium won't be the jubilant uproar of 70,000 (minus maybe a couple thousand depressed Eagles revelers) fans screaming in disbelief that the team they'd loved for 20 years (or 20 days) had finally tipped the world on its ear and made it to the Super Bowl. "We are the Champions" blared over the speakers as confetti showered from the rafters.
Nor will it be the sting I felt in my ribs when a belligerent giant Cardinals fan elbowed me out of the way as I tried to pull him off of a belligerent giant Eagles fan who had stolen his toilet stall. He gave the same treatment to security guards that followed, and then police officers who slammed his face to the tile and cuffed him. No worse time to be arrested than when you have to drop a deuce.
No, the feeling I'll remember most is the soundwaves reverberating through my stomach for three and a half hours. Place is loud.